The perfect contradiction,
Is to be born only to eventually die,
We make theories or a prediction,
To find out the why?
Yet, that’s exactly what life is about,
We’re born to die, we sleep to wake,
A contradictory, continuous roundabout,
For no reason, for no sake,
Don’t meet this thought with resistance,
Only with a mind of liberation,
For no meaning in our existence,
Is the exact meaning of our creation,
We are absolutely everything,
We are the undefinable middle,
We are absolutely nothing,
A solvable, unsolvable riddle.
twig poetry 